


Another Skin

by breathtaken



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Genderqueer Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 11:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10359429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/pseuds/breathtaken
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki was twelve years old when he watched Viktor Nikiforov win the Junior Grand Prix. He remembers squeezing Yuko’s hand till her knuckles turned white, seeing Viktor all black mesh and velvet and platinum hair pulled back, face serene and more ease in those lithe, graceful limbs than Yuuri himself has ever felt in his whole life; and he's associated Viktor with longing for years already but this is the first time he feels it swell and sing in his chest, pressing like fear does but with something sweet at its centre instead.He's used to wanting to belikeViktor – that unmatched combination of technical skill and elegance, that ease in his own skin – but also, he now realises, he wants too toknowhim. To know his secrets, his joys, his dreams and his fears. He wants to make him laugh. To understand him, and to be understood in turn.When he reads in Figure Skate Life that Viktor chose his costume to represent both male and female genders, it feels like the split-second realisation that this is a jump he isn't going to land.





	

Yuuri Katsuki was twelve years old when he watched Viktor Nikiforov win the Junior Grand Prix. He remembers squeezing Yuko’s hand till her knuckles turned white, seeing Viktor all black mesh and velvet and platinum hair pulled back, face serene and more ease in those lithe, graceful limbs than Yuuri himself has ever felt in his whole life; and he's associated Viktor with longing for years already but this is the first time he feels it swell and sing in his chest, pressing like fear does but with something sweet at its centre instead.

He's used to wanting to be _like_ Viktor – that unmatched combination of technical skill and elegance, that ease in his own skin – but also, he now realises, he wants too to _know_ him. To know his secrets, his joys, his dreams and his fears. He wants to make him laugh. To understand him, and to be understood in turn.

When he reads in _Figure Skate Life_ that Viktor chose his costume to represent both male and female genders, it feels like the split-second realisation that this is a jump he isn't going to land.

 

* * *

 

Eleven years later, he discovers that the costume he so admired back then isn't truly black. The mesh is a dappled dark grey, and the fabric slips from his fingers like mercury if he doesn't hold on tight enough, the silver thudding against the tatami as it falls.

Despite the four-way stretch Lycra it turns out too long in the limbs and too tight across the gut, even after the last few gruelling weeks wrestling his body back into shape, but. Despite the mortification of having to appear in it in front of the man who made it famous, surrounded by stacks of cardboard boxes and a glaring Yuri Plisetsky, he still knows he couldn't have chosen better.

He had forgotten that the half-skirt at the waist was scarlet beneath.

He tries not to fiddle with the half-gloves that sit too low on his fingers as Viktor looks him up and down, equal parts critical and amused, Yuuri half-expecting him to say it's no good, or if Yuuri's lucky, that it'll have to do.

What Viktor says instead is, "Did you ever choose your own costumes?"

Yuuri straightens and laces his fingers behind his back, as if he's being called to attention, trying to ignore the way Yurio turns his head.

"No, Coach Celestino did."

Celestino used to ask, at least at first; and Yuuri just used to mumble _whatever you think is best_ , like he did with his music, like he did with everything else.

He knew his friends and family thought him a nervous, awkward young man who was only at home on the ice, but the truth was more pathetic even than that: he couldn't even be himself _there_ , not when anyone was watching. The idea of showing anything of his true self – and being judged for it – was worse than a costume chosen by someone else, that fit his body but not his soul.

Or so he'd thought, before the last disastrous few months of his life that started with a complete failure at the Grand Prix Final and ended with him with no coach, no routines and a hair's breadth from quitting entirely; but skating Viktor's short programme just for himself and for Yuko in the privacy of his home rink was the first time he'd skated and felt peace, in as long as he can remember.

But it isn't like it matters. What use is being able to skate the world champion's winning programme at all if he can't win in his own right?

Viktor's still smiling, a finger pressed against his lips, as if he isn't inscrutable enough already when his expression turns like this, focused and intent. "Who are you, Yuuri Katsuki?" he asks the room at large, as if the brick walls that have seen Yuuri grow and change through the years are more likely to answer than the man in front of him.

Well, isn't that the question.

But what's changed – what had changed even before Viktor appeared at his door and announced his intentions, during those long months of failure, facing up to it and deciding what came next – is that Yuuri thinks for the first time in his life, he might be ready to find out.

This costume, the choreography: it's Viktor's, and it's Viktor's gift to him, but he has to be worthy of it.

He sets his jaw and lifts his chin, and replies with all the defiance he can muster, "I'm a future figure skating champion!"

It doesn't quite feel real, not yet. But when Viktor smiles like he's given the right answer, oh God does it feel _good_.

Viktor presses a hand to the small of his back as he goes over to Yurio, and it's just a glancing touch, but the warmth flushes through him like a wave and for the first time, Yuuri thinks he knows what he has to do.

 

* * *

 

It's unreal.

Flashbulbs going off all around, Viktor's arm around him an anchor, and Yuuri smiles and waves at his home crowd and blinks back tears, not able to think anything but _this is what it's like to win._

Not that he's never won before, but certainly not at this level. Not like _this_.

Alone half an hour later in the warm embrace of the baths, Yuuri tells Viktor everything he said to Minako the night before.

He stutters a bit. He isn't ashamed or anything, he knows that not everyone's the same, but he's about to sit down and eat _katsudon_ – as equals – with the man who's been his idol ever since he was a child, and his chest is already beginning to tighten because _what if Viktor doesn't understand?_

Viktor's answering smile when it comes is small around his mouth, but his eyes sparkle with it like morning light on water, and he covers Yuuri's hand with his own where it's gripping the edge of the baths with a foreigner's disregard for _onsen_ etiquette.

"Good! I knew when I watched you skate that you'd found a way to connect with the programme."

Viktor gives Yuuri’s hand a squeeze and then gets out of the baths, reaching for his towel, and Yuuri studiously ignores his naked body, thinking, _it's that easy?_

It's not, of course. Nothing important ever is, and he can feel the words _Viktor doesn't understand_ circling like wolves ready to pounce in the dark corners of his mind, and it would be so easy –

But he isn’t going to be that man any more.

The dining room is empty – suspiciously so, given that it's dinner time on a Saturday night and Yu-topia is full to bursting – and it's Mari who brings their food, which feels like a small mercy. Yuuri feels one touch away from shattering right now, and he doesn't think he could deal with his mother's knowing smile, that smile thinks it knows so much, when he doesn’t even know himself.

“Enjoy,” is all Mari says before she leaves again – and Yuuri can't help it, he looks at his food (which smells _heavenly)_ and then at Viktor, smiling his clueless sunny smile, and thinks all at once:

_What if this isn't enough?_

_What if it has to be?_

He picks up a pork cutlet with his chopstick.

“You're looking very thoughtful, Yuuri,” Viktor says, still with that expression Yuuri hates just a little, that he doesn't think Viktor even realises is fake. “Are there other ways you want to celebrate your win tonight?”

And that – Yuuri may be inexperienced, but he's not _stupid_ , and it pops out of his mouth without thinking:

“Stop talking.”

Then he realises what he’s just said. To _Viktor._

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean –” He drops his chopsticks with a clatter, holding up his hands trying to placate him, before he realises that Viktor isn't reacting with anger, or hurt. Instead he's frowning, as if Yuuri's a puzzle he's trying to figure out.

“It's okay, Yuuri,” he says, lips curving a fraction, though his eyes are serious. “Why don't you talk instead?”

Yuuri takes a bite of pork to cover the pounding of his heart and the whirling of his thoughts. To him the flavour is home and comfort, and it does help calm him a little.

He's not ready for what Viktor’s offering him, but he's not ready to talk about it either. But if he can just make him understand who he is on the ice –

“When you wore the costume I'm wearing now. What were you thinking?”

Viktor chews contemplatively before answering, “I chose it because I believe that's what figure skating is, both masculine and feminine. To be beautiful on the ice we need both great power and great grace.”

The thought lands like a cannonball, sinking:

_He doesn't feel the way I do._

Over the pounding of his heart in his ears he hears Viktor ask, “And what do you think, when you wear it?”

Yuri puts his hands under the table so Viktor can't see they're shaking. “I don't think. I... feel. Like myself.”

Viktor frowns. “You feel differently?”

“Like... I'm showing on the outside the way I feel on the inside.” He can't meet Viktor's eyes. “Male _and_ female, at the same time.”

“Yuuri.” When he dares to glance up again, Viktor's expression is soft and fond. “I'm glad you feel you can be yourself on the ice. That will give you the strength you need to win.”

Yuuri smiles and quickly shoves a clump of egg and rice in his mouth, before Viktor has time to realise it's bittersweet. All the time it was nothing more than commentary on the art of figure skating, when for years he thought – hoped – that Viktor felt as he did.

But that Viktor was a fantasy, wasn't he? A mirror of Yuuri's own hopes and dreams and longings, that only lived inside his head.

The Viktor in front of him, though – he’s real. Yuuri never would have imagined his forgetfulness, his penchant for drama, the intensity of his focus. The way it feels to have that focus turned on him.

And they _won_ together, when Yuuri had never thought he’d win again.

No, there might be some things he’s not ready for, but for tonight at least, he has everything he wants.

Their eyes meet, and Yuuri smiles for real this time, and eats. He’s earned it, after all.


End file.
